


Driver

by paranoidfighter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Delivery driver, Gen, post apocalyptic setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoidfighter/pseuds/paranoidfighter
Summary: How far will you go to do your job?
Relationships: None
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Opening

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a writing warm up before working on other stories, but the character grew on me...
> 
> This will be a collection of scenes from the story - something that is still very much in progress.

The most profound thing I had ever read was written on the wall of a bathroom stall.

Well, saying it was written was generous - it had been carved into the wall - and saying it was profound was probably even more generous. The phrase was definitely poignant and insightful, especially for its simplicity, but seeing it written down was what made it so profound. The phrase consisted of only three words, but it was three words that explained the reason behind everything I did in my life. All of the trips I had made, all of the jobs I had taken... all of them were because of those three little words carved into the wall of an abandoned Station's bathroom stall. 

Sitting in the presence of those words, I found myself momentarily distracted from the task at hand as my thoughts began to wander. Who had taken the time to write those words but? And, more importantly, when had they been written? Had it been years ago, back when this Station was still active and thriving on the side of the heavily traveled highway, by a wayward drifter as the hustle and bustle died down, or were they written by someone that turned the abandoned Station into their home? I was inclined to believe it had been the former, if only because I hadn't seen or heard anyone during my initial search. Admittedly, I could've easily missed any signs of occupation, though, because that search hadn't exactly been thorough. I wanted to say I had done my due diligence, though, but I couldn't even pretend to believe that. Hampered as I had been by an overwhelming sense of urgency, my search consisted of a single, cursory shout of "anyone there?" as I awkwardly and hastily ran towards the bathroom.

Even though no one had answered my call, I didn't fully trust the Station to be abandoned, and I found myself feeling particularly vulnerable as I sat in the rickety stall. The rusted lock on the door did provide a small sense of security, but the thing that truly comforted me was the snub-nosed revolver I held in my hand. Its heavy weight and no-nonsense caliber had granted me both privacy and safety for years now and I doubted it'd let me down now. 

And so, armed as I was, I sat there and stared at the words on the wall until my bare thighs grew cold. I wanted to say that I sat there until my legs went numb, but the numbness that came from sitting for too long was an almost-permanent part of me now. I probably should've been worried about that, but I had as much care as I did sensation in my legs - which was to say, I didn't really care at all. 

Finally finished with the reason I had needed the bathroom in the first place, I pushed myself to my feet, gave a nod to the words on the wall, and pulled up my pants before leaving both the bathroom and the Station proper. I didn't look at the Station until after I was back in my well-traveled car. My key slid into the ignition as I stared at the Station's doors, whispering that simple phrase as the car's engine roared to life...

People want things.


	2. Trimi Ri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a section from my current project that I'm working on but is one that doesn't spoil any of the main plot. In this scene, the main character - a delivery driver who simply calls himself Driver - makes an unexpected stop one night as he looks around what used to be a familiar landmark.

My headlights found the sign before my eyes did.

There, in the distance, was the large green sign that stated 'TRIMI RI' with an equally large arrow underneath it. The arrow always amused me. It just seemed so unnecessary since the bright city lights could be seen in the distance--

\--where were the lights?

I slowed the car as the sign steadily grew larger, but I wasn't looking at the sign. My eyes were fixed on the horizon, on the dark spot where I knew Trimi Ri used to be--no, was. It was still there. It had to still be there. That was a whole city. A city filled with people. It couldn't just... be deserted. No, there had to be people still living there. There must've been a power outage or something. That had to be it. Just a power outage...

But what could've caused a power outage that blacked out all of Trimi Ri? 

Maybe something happened to the power grid? It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, given the state of the city's infrastructure. In fact, nothing was outside the realm of possibility, but could something as simple as downed power lines or a broken transformer really be the reason why the whole city had gone dark? It seemed as unlikely as... as what? As Li Sema moving its border further to the west? 

I bit back a sigh. I didn't know what was happening. Li Sema had changed and now Trimi Ri was a hole in the skyline. I didn't know how those things happened or why they happened. The only thing I did know was that I shouldn't stop here. I didn't know what was out there, didn't know what was waiting for the chance to strike. It wasn't safe to stop. I knew that.

And yet, I found that my foot moved from the gas pedal to the brake as a sense of detached curiosity washed over me. It wouldn't be that bad to just stop the car and look around, right? Just a few minutes looking at the altered skyline wouldn't hurt anything. No, it wouldn't hurt anything at all... 

  
I silenced the engine and pocketed my keys but left the headlights burning as I came to stand in front of the exit sign for Trimi Ri. Its painted face was chipped and dingy, but that wasn't surprising; with enough time, the sandstorms could and would strip the paint off of everything they found. My own car was living - well, moving - proof of this. And, much like my beleaguered car, I couldn't help but feel pity for the sign. 

The sand-blasted sign was stuck out here in what was rapidly becoming part of the Li Sema Desert. It was forced to stand and point people towards a city that no longer seemed to be populated. Well, maybe it was, but it definitely didn't appear to be alive. Or as alive as a city could be.

I wanted to walk away from the sign, but my feet were rooted to the spot. I couldn't look away from it, nor could I look away from the thing under it.

It was a body, clad in rags, and covered in a thin layer of sand. I couldn't tell how long it had been lying there, but I didn't think it had been for long - a few weeks, at most. Surprisingly, the clothing covering the dessicated body was mostly still intact. I knelt down and carefully lifted the edge of his tattered jacket, only to find myself blinking at sight of a knife nestled hilt-deep in his stomach. It struck me as odd - had the attacker run off before retrieving the knife? - but I didn't dwell on it for long, distracted as I was by the fact the body was holding something in each hand. 

In the right hand was a well-worn and sun-bleached book. The cover proclaimed it to be the gospel of Yewah and that alone was enough to make me not touch it. I wasn't very familiar with the Mician god, but I knew enough to know that, no matter the circumstance, taking another's gospel was incredibly rude - and since the man was dead, I felt that it'd be even more rude to pry his gospel out of his hand. Instead, I turned my attention to his left hand and the pieces of paper he clutched.  
"Hope you don't mind," I whispered as I started tugging on the papers, "but I'm too curious for my own good." 

It took more effort than I wanted to expend, but I managed to tease the papers out of his grasp without ripping them. I smoothed out the pages as best I could as I came to sit beside the body. There were symbols and pictures drawn around the edges. Most of them were unfamiliar to me, except for the triple cross of Yewah. That one I recognized, but I wasn't entirely sure why this person had drawn all of the symbols. Maybe they were a holy person? I hoped they weren't, considering the predicament I found them in, but this was a situation I wouldn't wish on anyone. I did have to know, though, just who this person was. 

I carefully lifted the collar of his jacket and spied the top of a triple cross that was hanging around his neck. It was made out of metal, but the grime and sand made it difficult to tell what kind. It was probably gold, though; most of the triple crosses I had seen were gold.  
"I can tell you're religious, but were you a preacher or just a follower?" I looked him over once more and saw a small scrap of white fabric around his neck. "Looks like you're a preacher." I nodded to myself before turning my attention back to the note. "Just seems wrong for someone like you to end up like this, stabbed in the stomach and left to die in the desert..."

My voice trailed off as I continued reading.

He hadn't been left here to die. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had killed himself. "May my body serve as a promise to those who dare travel this road," the note said. "The city is abandoned, forsaken by the laws of man and the love of Yewah. It is a dangerous place, a place of no return, and I beg that Yewah protect any souls who travel down that road." 

Reading further, I felt my brow furrowing. "When His angels raise their voices to the sky, run. Pray to Yewah that He keeps you safe, that He leads you to His heavenly home, for there is no escaping the wrath of His angels." 

Wrath of His angels? I frowned at that. I didn't know enough about the gospel of Yewah to know what that meant. What I did know was that avoiding things people claimed to be forsaken was usually a good idea, just as I also knew I was a terrible listener. Despite countless warnings from the Clerks I had met throughout my career, I somehow kept finding myself deep in the heart of this forsaken desert, traveling with only a fraction of the concern I should've shown. I had done it for years, too, knowing that with every trip I made, the more I was tempting fate. I had seen what the sand did to the people who stayed here for too long - it clung to them, just like it clung to Brevard--

Forcibly pushing the thoughts out of my mind, I returned my attentions to the rest of the letter. The preacher claimed that he had done all that he could to warn the people of Trimi Ri, but there was only so much that he could truly do. They wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't heed his warnings, and had resigned themselves to their fate through their inactions. They were doomed to die, he had said, when the angels' voices filled the skies - just as he was doomed to watch it happen. 

He wrote that he was powerless to do anything except weep and pray as the angels sang their way through the streets. The whole night had been filled with the sounds of the people screaming as the angels wrought havoc on the city. It only ended, he had written, when the sunlight rose over the horizon. He searched the city for any survivors but, after a week, he was forced to leave Trimi Ri behind. He walked here, to this very sign, and then made the decision to wholly devote his life to warning the world of the fate that had befallen Trimi Ri. 

His handwriting had grown messier, I frowned as I kept reading, but I wasn't frowning at his penmanship. No, I was frowning at what the man had written in what was, apparently, the last moments of his life. 

He vowed that he would leave his body here, as a warning, and he prayed it would be enough to deter anyone from entering Trimi Ri - just as he prayed for forgiveness because of what he had done. His suicide had been in service to Yewah, he had said, and that he hoped Yewah would shine benevolence on him, even though he had knowingly committed the unforgivable sin. "Accept my confession. Pray for my soul," the words were half-hidden by dark stains on the paper, "and pray that I may find my peace." 

The last line of the note was probably his name, but the writing was illegible. I tried to read it, though. I did. I really did. I stayed by his body, reading and rereading the last line, but it was of no use. I didn't know his name.

With a heavy heart, I folded the letter and slipped it between the pages of his gospel; I knew I wouldn't be able to get the pages back into his hand. "I don't know if I'm the right person for this, but I'll do what I can." I bowed my head. "I accept your confession. I would pray for you, but I don't know how. All I can say is that I hope you find your peace, because you've earned it. Rest easy now, wherever you are. Your job is done." 

I pushed myself to my feet and made my way back to the car, only to stop as a strange, distant sound met my ears. I turned to look back at Trimi Ri as the sound grew louder and higher in pitch, warbling as it traveled through the desert. It sounded almost like a voice, but I knew that it wasn't. That was a civil defense siren, albeit a broken one, but one that still managed to sing its warning to any who would listen... 

"I guess those are your angels," I said as I climbed back into the car. "You were right to avoid them. Nothing good happens when those sirens sound..." 

Seated behind the wheel, I stared at the half-buried body. It felt wrong to leave him exposed like that, but it's what he wanted--no, it's what he died for. But it still felt wrong. I felt like I should be saying something, or maybe doing something, but there was nothing that I could do except listen to his warning, just like he wanted. 

And, ultimately, that's what I did: I drove past the remains of the city as I made my way further west, all while ignoring how the world seemed darker than before...


End file.
